Roleplay Logs!

Melodie

Okay been doing more log digging and this one is just... too good. So Mhaldor is all serious, all the time, right? Yeah no. We've got some real characters here, and I've got proof to show you! And its not even combat lulz.

Every Insidium member, before becoming a full member, must confess their weaknesses and perform a penance in order to progress. Below is mine with Mel's present Exemplar (House mentor), @Kresslack, with a guest appearance by @Ast. This is a litttttle more personal than usual, but I think still rather interesting and without giving too much away. Enjoy!

https://ada-young.appspot.com/pastebin/37bb0aeb

Note: A few parts of my confession were slightly sensitive and have been edited somewhat, but with the feeling of it left intact.

Taraza

I get the feeling that was the first time @Kresslack saw the gremlin at work. 

Aerek

Disliked it. I was not the topic of conversation for long enough.

Melodie

Aerek said:

Disliked it. I was not the topic of conversation for long enough.

Aerek

ITT: Combat Houses don't RP.

You see the following people here:
Aziik, Nim, Glorissa, Halgar, Tynil, Prydwyn, Itkovian, Morganbarl, Noak, Aerek

You say, "It is a solemn bond that exists between soldiers. Blood is thicker than water, and thus men and women who bleed and spill blood together become family. We are bred to be loyal. We are trained to be deadly. We are expected to follow orders. And we are sworn to sacrifice. Nothing exemplifies these virtues more than the Duel of the Valley."

You say, "When two Sentries have proven their training warrants promotion to a full member of the Vashnarian Shield, they display their knowledge and loyalty in this sacred ritual. The Duel is not a show of violence, but of discipline, a display of knowledge and skill hard-earned in the arenas and the battlefields beyond. It is not a show of superiority, but one of sacrifice, in that each of these soldiers are willing to die for the other's benefit."

You say, "The Duel is not an easy trial, testing our hands, our head, and our heart. It pushes our limits physically, mentally, but it in these fires true soldiers are forged and tempered."

You ask, "Sir Tynil, Sir Itkovian, are each of you prepared to undertake this task?"

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "Yes."

You ask, "Are there any rules that the two of you would agree to for this Duel?"

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "I ask only that we stay within the bounds of these proving grounds."

Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "Of course, Sir."

You say, "Then on my command, Sirs. Show us your mettle."

You touch the tattoo and a nearly invisible magical shield forms around you.
You say, "Begin."

[2 skilled, artefacted, S&B Knights with SoAs slug it out for 15 minutes and a draw is called.]

You say, "Hard fought, both of you. This will mark the first draw in the history of the Duel. Soldiers, when you look upon these men, see excellence."

You say, "Sir Tynil, having cut your teeth under the Wardens of the Spire, and Sir Itkovian, under the Templars of Shallam. Despite having earned your Knighthood through sweat and toil, diligence and perserverance, you have submitted and excelled through House's training programs, embraced your duties as soldiers, earned reputations as defenders of the Valley."

You say, "You have done this not because you were ordered to, but because you chose to. We begin our service in the Vashnarian Shield as 'Volunteers', because we are so. Not conscripts pressed into service, unwillingly, but noble souls willing to sacrifice it all so that others may live in peace."

You say, "Cyrene stands as a bastion of civilization and prosperity as the lowlands thrash about in a craze of idealized barbarism. They look upon us isolationists, apathetic, weak."

You say, "They are wrong."

You say, "We stand firm, willing to fight and die for for a world where war and bloodshed is not the reality that peaceable folk must bear upon their shoulders. We bleed so that they do not have to, anointing Cyrene's soveriegn soil with our lives so that she remains free, remains peaceful."

You say, "And so, Sir Tynil, Sir Itkovian, it is time to make these unspoken vows spoken."

The air around a graceful silver dagger vibrates as you swiftly unsheathe it from a small iron sheath.

You say, "Every Shieldwarden, from inception, has spilled blood over these stones as a promise to themselves, their brethren, and their home, that when danger calls, they will be ready to sacrifice."

You say, "Now you will follow in their steps, and we will be honored to have you."

You give a graceful silver dagger to Tynil.

Tynil draws the dagger across his palm, letting the blood drip onto the ground.

You give a graceful silver dagger to Itkovian.

Itkovian removes his left gauntlet, then takes the dagger in his right hand and draws its edge against his left hand's palm, blood dripping onto the ground.

You begin to wield a graceful silver dagger in your left hand.
You have emoted: Aerek wipes the blood from a graceful silver dagger with a clean cloth.
You slide a graceful silver dagger into a small iron sheath with a quiet 'swish'.

You say, "Swear with me, Sirs, the Vow to the Vally."

You chant, "We are the shield against the sword."

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "Come one or come many, I stand ready to hold the pass."
Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "Come one or come many, I stand ready to hold the pass."

You chant, "We are the cloak against the storm."

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "Take shelter in my
presence, I am the Valley's walls."
Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "Take shelter in my presence, I am the Valley's walls."

You chant, "On the blood of our brothers, on the blood of our sisters."

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "I swear this oath, to carry you to victory, or lay beside you in defeat."
Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "I swear this oath, to carry you to victory, or lay beside you in defeat."

You chant, "To our comrades, to our countrymen."

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "According to my station, I serve you all without exception."
Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "According to my station, I serve you all without exception."

You chant, "With unrelenting purpose."

Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "I bleed and spill blood on your behalf, that you may live in peace."
Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "I bleed and spill blood on your behalf, that you may live in peace."

You chant, "In name of Cyrene and its Senate."

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "I will not fail in this."
Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "I will not fail in this."

You chant, "Ever loyal."

Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Brazen Sentry says, "Beyond my Dying Breath."
Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Brazen Sentry says in a clear, quiet voice, "Beyond my dying breath."

You say, "Soldiers! Look upon these men. See in them what we will one day see in you. Remember them, when one day you stand here and speak these same words, to yourself, to your brethren, to your country."

You say, "Well done, Sirs. Welcome to the Shield."
You give Tynil a respectful salute.
You give Itkovian a respectful salute.

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Shieldwarden says to you in a clear, quiet voice, "Thank you, Sir."
Tynil gives the world a smart salute.

Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Shieldwarden says, "Thank you, Shieldlord, it is an honour to number amongst you."
Itkovian gives the world a smart salute.

Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Shieldwarden says, "I shall endeavour to serve the Shield and Cyrene to my utmost, and continue the tradition of my new home."

Sir Itkovian Otanthalian, Shieldwarden says, "And thank you, Sir Tynil, for this most challenging duel. You are a credit to the Shield, and to Cyrene."

Tempest of Neraeos, Sir Tynil Jinx, Shieldwarden says to Itkovian in a clear, quiet voice, "Likewise. It is good to have you with us, Sir."

You have emoted: Aerek nearly conceals a small smile.
You say, "Fortunate that we have each of you with us, and not against us."

You exclaim, "Shieldarms! You are dismissed!"

Tahquil

@Aerek : it's okay bby, I'll talk about you all through the night.


Edit: gdi phone why won't you let me post creepy girlfriend meme

Saeva

Tynil   

Aerek

@LorielanGood evening, esteemed Goddess,

Our records indicate that you recently enjoyed a preview of the Vashnarian Shield's smash hit "The Vow to the Valley". If this fine piece was to your liking, have we got a deal for you! Our operators are standing by with an exclusive offer for VIP (Very Important Patron) access to all Shield events! You'll get a behind-the-scenes look into all future Shield rituals, as well as an opportunity to become inundated with dozens of Patron requests by the desperate leadership!

You just can't say "No." to that!

But wait, there's more! Act now, and we'll throw in a collection of other great Shield productions, such as "Fair-Weather Fighter", "Zerg Rush", and "Army of None: The Cyrenian Combatant's Story".

Call today!

(Please?)

Lorielan

@Aerek I can (and do) say "No." to whatever I please! (Just ask @Aodfionn.)
On occasions it might be expanded to "I think not."

But yes, the log was wonderful, it's great to see such care put into the promotion. I particularly enjoyed that they followed from your cues, and the all encompassing nature of the vow itself, where it extended not only to the members and the org, but to Cyrene and her values as a whole.

Bronislav

Aerek said:

@LorielanGood evening, esteemed Goddess,

Our records indicate that you recently enjoyed a preview of the Vashnarian Shield's smash hit "The Vow to the Valley". If this fine piece was to your liking, have we got a deal for you! Our operators are standing by with an exclusive offer for VIP (Very Important Patron) access to all Shield events! You'll get a behind-the-scenes look into all future Shield rituals, as well as an opportunity to become inundated with dozens of Patron requests by the desperate leadership!

You just can't say "No." to that!

But wait, there's more! Act now, and we'll throw in a collection of other great Shield productions, such as "Fair-Weather Fighter", "Zerg Rush", and "Army of None: The Cyrenian Combatant's Story".

Call today!

(Please?)

AS THE KING OF SPACE, I FULLY ENDORSE THESE ACTIVITIES.

Naverre

@Rangor 's Sermon, as requested by some people (@Sarathai) in another thread:

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "Greetings. Thank you for coming

to listen to me today."

Rangor bows respectfully to the crowd while quickly checking his pockets

for the essential items. You can glimpse vials, bags of diamond dust and

an old tome tucked into his grand robes.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "I am here today as a member of

the Scions of the Ithmia. As part of our studies we are to teach the

world of our ways. The Scions is a foundation of like minded forestals

sworn to Nature. Our purpose is to see Nature's influence spread and

thrive. There are many ways to accomplish our goals, be it bloody

conquest, ancient rituals or teaching the masses and demonstrating how

they can also live in harmony with Nature."

Rangor pauses shortly, allowing for his words to sink in, as well as

giving him time to retrieve a pot and a dusty old manuscript from his

robe.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "Through the cycle of life and

death, what has been will never come again. The world is in constant

change and returning to a state of the past is not what we seek. From

the past we take our lessons, today we study and guide the future."

Without warning Rangor grabs something out of another deep pocket of his

robe and flings it into the air. A sparkling display of lights and

colours twinkle in the sky, before they settle into a pattern outlining

an old and dark forest. Soon after the illusion is replaced by an

everyday scene of busy streets and stone houses confined by large and

intimidating walls. You look around yourself and could very well be

convinced that you are standing in the middle of the great city itself.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "What has been, can never come

again. Today we look to the future and that is what I want to show you

today. As part of our purpose we seek to teach others of our cause and

attempt to convince them to join us in that cause, to do as we do in

Eleusis and live in harmony with Nature. I see a way for you to do the

same."

Wrinkles creases his forehead as Rangor considers his next words

carefully.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "What I cannot fully convey with

words, I will attempt to display with illusions and demonstrations."

Frowning with concentration Rangor conjures up a lifelike illusion

filled with tall stone buildings, the vashnar mountains is set in the

background of the street and the muurn lake lie at the end of the busy

street. Noises from the local market intrude upon your senses and soon

it feels, looks and smells as if you are right there, in the middle of

the great city of Cyrene.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "The scene is set."

Rangor consults his old manuscript before placing the old oaken pot on

the ground before him. he then carefully adds cold water, some diamond

dust, a pair of old and dried goldenseal roots. To complete the mixture

he stacks a pile of dried wood and lights it with his tinderbox. Buffing

the fire carefully with his breath, the fire catches and Rangor places

his pot in the middle of the flames.

As the mixture begins boiling Rangor brings out an adorned ritual

dagger, and pricks himself in the thumb. Red drops beging forming from

the edge of his thumb.

Rangor ceases to wield an adorned ritual dagger in his left hand.

Rangor places his bleeding thumb over the pot and carefully adds a few

drops of his blood to the boiling mass.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "By combining the art of

illusions with the old lore of herbalism, I am able to create vivid

displays that I hope will convey the hopes I have for Cyrene."

As the boiling mass becomes a deep hued, clear green liquid Rangor takes

it from the flames and starts flinging drops of it into the air with the

adorned ritual dagger. At first nothing happens, but soon it appears

that the area around you awakens with life. Weeds and grass rises out of

the cracks in the streets. Moss appears to grow out before your eyes and

covers the ground and walls like a soft blanket. Plantlife sprouts to

life everywhere.

While the area around awakens to life and deep green vines grows from

the ground and climbs up the facade of the nearby buildings, Rangor

becomes more energetic. He throws the green liquid higher and faster

into the air. Life around you immediately respond to his actions. As you

look down you see the grass and moss that now cover the cobbled streets,

vines have completely covered the facade of the buildings, leaving only

gaps where there are doors and windows. On the rooftops saplings reach

for the sky. As the city transforms into a living and breathing entity,

you quickly notice that the sounds and distractions normally experienced

in any urban city quickly fades into the background.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "The city is similar to any

network of hills, cliffs and caves. Nature can thrive in this

environment as well as any other. The land and area is good for growing,

as the ancient forest once proved. With your city covered in plants and

trees, the seasons you normally experience will also change."

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "The cold and chilling winter

wind will be tempered by the sheltering trees and plants that rise to

the sky. The heating summer days will be cooled by the soothing shades

of vibrant leaves. Dry and dusty air will be kept moist by the living

environment that surrounds you. The loud and distracting noises of your

neighbours will be muted by the natural ambience of the vibrant life

that returns to the city."

While Rangor keeps spreading droplets of the green liquid into the air

with one hand, he reaches into a different pocket of his robe and brings

out what appears to be dried feces which he quickly adds to the mix.

While his audience remains hypnotised by the display before them Rangor

continues expanding upon the illusion. Soon you hear the call of exotic

birds from the rooftops. You see an agile monkey jumping from roof to

roof. Behind the corner of a building you see the glowing eyes of a

small wildcat searching for a rodent or other creature to sate its

hunger.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "With life and Nature comes both

the flora and the fauna. Nature requires both to thrive. Domestic

animals will slowly be replaced with wild animals which will in turn

regulate the amount of rodents and other critters that so often grow

rampant in your urban cities."

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "Bees and butterflies will come

to pollenate the flowers that will decorate your buildings in the

wonderful spring and summer days. Life, vibrant and wonderful, will

truly make your city a place of wonder and admiration."

Letting his arms drop to his sides Rangor lets his illusions abruptly

end. First are slightly disoriented as the illusion first returns to its

normal state of hard stone cobbled streets with dry grey stone wall

facades and the loud buzz of merchants haggling over wares intruding

once again upon your senses. Then you return to your senses as the known

mountain path is once again visible beneath your feet.

Rangor says in a deep, rumbling voice, "Such is my hopes for your

future. I thank you for your time, and hope you have learned something

of us and our hopes today."

After putting away his pot and other supplies Rangor makes a deep bow to

the audience before retreating to the shadows and disappearing from

sight.

Vayne

I have always thought promotions and accomplishments in orgs should have a cool ritual/ceremony tied to them. It makes the person feel like they have accomplished something, and that something is recognized by his organisation by creating a memorable event. Additionally, it builds camaraderie among members by making them interact and play the role, as well as acting as benchmarks to motivate players to contribute and progress.

Anyway, I say all this as I prepare a new initiation for an org that I hope will be impactful for those who will be going through it, and thought I would share another one I wrote for the Serpentlords as part of my big push to revitalize the House and bring back a high standard of roleplay and tap into its amazing lore and history(RIP). Unfortunately, I never got to use it before things went south for the Cult.

It is a ceremony for advancing to full membership in the House(HR3>HR5). I added some commentary in parentheses for those not in the "know" and potentially to give ideas about how others might go about these types of ceremonies.

Cult Initiation

Initiation into the Cult of the Serpentlords represents the entry of an aspirant into the mysteries of the venerable legacy of the House. The aspirant is symbolically regenerated from a lowly snake into a esteemed Serpentlord by the will of the Cult. (Serpent Houses were traditionally very competitive between each other and the SL being the first and orginal made a strong distinction between being a Serpent and being a Serpentlord.)

Preparations:

Serpentlords overseeing the initiation are to remain concealed, their faces obscured by hoods while the aspirant is to begin unveiled and visible within the circle of Serpentlords. The Grand Hierarch is to oversee the initiation, in his absence the Brood Master. One of these officers must conduct the ritual.

Orientation:

The Serpentlords are to form a silent circle around the initiate enclosing him alone, face to face, with the Moon Serpent. The conductor is to stand on the left side of the aspirant at the midpoint of the aspirant and Serpent.

Program:

Conductor: Serpent.

One who crawls upon his belly.

You have proven yourself able.

You have proven yourself accomplished.

You have proven yourself ambitious.

To raise yourself up from the dirt and become a lord.

(Each of the previous line corresponds to a rank title of SL novices which were in Latin and roughly translated to the mentioned characteristics.)

Serpent:  -Reaction-

Conductor: The Cult is bound by blood.

It is the tie that binds family together

And venom pumps through the veins of all Serpentfolk.

-lower head, voice somber-

But over the years the pure blood of the Serpentfolk has been tainted.

Snakes crawl ubiquitously through the low places of Sapience.

The lineage and legacy of the Serpentlord must be preserved.

-pause, visible draw dirk-

You must be cleansed.

-jab aspirant with voyria, aspirant dies, bursts,Serpent reacts-

Conductor: Your blood distilled will be the test of worth.

Are you but a snake or destined to stand among us as a Serpentlord?

-tell aspirant to stroke Serpent159261,Serpent reacts positively-(Supercool denizen that Ourania made us that triggers a cool series of reactions when touched and tests the applicant's blood.)

Conductor: You have been found worthy of the title Serpentlord

To carry on the heritage that has progressed for century upon century

To spread the infamy of our name across the lands

By the blood you spill across it

By the storehouses you leave bare

And by the secrets you horde

Your blood flows through us all

Our newest brother/sister, -Aspirantsname-

Welcome to the Cult of the Serpentlords.

-Company chants Hail Brother/Sister of the Shadows-

-Instruct Initiate to raise their hood-(Symbolic gesture that they are now a Serpentlord, worthy of the shadows like the rest)

Bronislav

Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "Bronislav."
Loora, the scholar tilts her head and listens intently to you.
You say in a dark, forceful voice, "..I understand that Lady Lorielan chose to protected Her realm against the corruption of Lord Babel in the midst of the Bal'met conflict. When she had to choose between Her realm and the city to which she was the sole survivor of the Te'serran Alliance."
Deepest Stygian night steals over the land as the symbolic hourglass empties and turns, ready to begin a new day.
It is now the 5th of Glacian, 680 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire.
Tolling to the midnight hour, the deep bass tones from the clock tower reverberate throughout the valley and resonate softly through the cool mountain air.
You have acted: Bronislav draws himself up, and slowly - carefully - removes a beaked helmet of blackened and crimson metal from his head. Holding it loosely at his side as his chestnut-brown hair and stormy, gold-flecked gaze is exposed. The latter of which is fixed solely upon Loora, the scholar.
You pull the beaked helmet of blackened and crimson metal from upon yourself, the stillness of your perceptions interrupted by the dynamic world around you.
Agrias's voice quietly thrums in your mind as he tells you, "Being less abrasive might help."
Loora, the scholar says, "My apologies, was that the question?"
You whisper to Loora, the scholar in a dark, forceful voice, "..Some would disagree with my concerns regarding obligations and duty regarding the Divine. But I must ask: has She ever sought forgiveness to those who She had left in their time of need?"
Loora, the scholar says, "Do speak up, Bronislav, we are a public gathering."
You say in a dark, forceful voice, "..Has She asked forgiveness for abandoning those whom She had sworn to protect?"
Verrucht tells you, "Remember my "There are ways to say things bit" ?"
Loora, the scholar says, "To answer, you might speak with Runa, Zenui, or Valeo. I have never demanded an explanation from my Lady, nor will I. But they were all given the chance to ask freely of Her when She returned to Sapience."
Loora, the scholar says, "What they asked before pledging themselves as Samatha, it is not my business to know."
You tell Verrucht, "..I know I could have asked it better. But damn it, it needed to be asked."
Loora, the scholar says, "Those who sought answers likely found them, those who cried accusations, probably less so."
Maega raises an eyebrow questioningly.
Shirszae smiles softly.
Runa smiles softly.
You look sceptical and say in a dark, forceful voice, "..I understand. I seek neither answers nor accusations - only consolation for those who suffered in Her absence."
You say to Loora, the scholar in a dark, forceful voice, "Thank you."
As you place the beaked helmet of blackened and crimson metal over your head, the world around you stills to a tranquil calm.
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger's words quietly thrum through the air as he says, "If you didn't seek an answer, then why ask a question?"
Maega tilts her head curiously.
A glimmer of amusement brightens Shirszae's amber eye.
Maega Vorondil, Virtuosi Curator says to Agrias, "I want this to be philosophical now."
You say to Agrias in a dark, forceful voice, "..Maybe because I was the only one who wondered if She was truly sorry, Senator. But my question has been asked - and replied to."
Nicca raises an eyebrow questioningly.
Maega Vorondil, Virtuosi Curator says, "Why ask a question when you seek not the answer? I will make students write essays on this."
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger's words quietly thrum through the air as he says, "I supremely doubt you are the only one who wondered."
Nicca says in a throaty, professorial voice, "I'm curious why a Divine need be sorry for any decision they make."
Agrias nods his head at Nicca.
Eril raises an eyebrow questioningly.
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "Eril."
Loora, the scholar's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.
Loora, the scholar tilts her head and listens intently to Eril.
Lisbethae says in a low, gentle voice, "And I wonder why anyone would think that someone wouldn't be sorry when they have to decide between the health of one child and the health of another."
Eril says to Nicca in a deep and gruff voice, "Thousands died, yet their lives mean nothing?"
Eril says to Loora, the scholar in a deep and gruff voice, "I would expand a bit on Bronislav's question."
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "As long as you do so politely."
Eril says to Loora, the scholar in a deep and gruff voice, "And I do have a question, and I will hear either answer."
Loora, the scholar says, "If you can do so without needing to bully me, please."
Agrias nods his head at Loora, the scholar.
Maega tells you, "Thank you for asking that question."
Eril says to Loora, the scholar in a deep and gruff voice, "I am not here to bully, I am not here to abuse."
You tell Maega, "It had to be asked."
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger's words quietly thrum through the air as he says, "Keep in mind that Loora is a guest of Cyrene."
Eril says in a deep and gruff voice, "Would you rather I not ask questions regarding Shallam's destruction and Lady Lorielan leaving?"
Eril says in a deep and gruff voice, "If so, I will keep my questions and comments."
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger's words quietly thrum through the air as he says, "Me? No, ask what you will."
Loora, the scholar says, "Not at all, but Bronislav's approach was a little unfortunate."
Eril says in a deep and gruff voice, "Fair enough."
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "You can ask what you want to ask, but she doesn't need to be glared and stared at rudely."
Agrias nods his head at Verrucht.
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger's words quietly thrum through the air as he says, "Exactly."
Trilliana laces her fingers together contemplatively.
Khairt tilts his head and listens intently to Eril.
Eril says in a deep and gruff voice, "I wouldn't do that, I would hope you'd both know that."
Faur arrives from the south.
Maega Vorondil, Virtuosi Curator says, "I think some people might be understandably upset and sometimes it is hard to contain their emotions."
Maega twiddles her thumbs.
Trilliana nods her head at Maega.
Eril says to Loora, the scholar in a deep and gruff voice, "Do you know how difficult the decision would have been for Lady Lorielan?"
Eril says in a deep and gruff voice, "Loora I respect the divine, I offered to all four Te'serra."
Eril coughs softly.
Loora, the scholar says, "I cannot answer for the Empress, not truthfully and so I will not try to."
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger whispers to Maega, "Indeed, Maega. Though that doesn't mean they shouldn't expect repercussions to being rude to one of our guests."
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "Excuse me, folks."
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "Eril is asking a question."
Sir Agrias de Feura, Hand of the Messenger's words quietly thrum through the air as he says, "Apologies, Imperiate."
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "Loora is answering it."
Verrucht says in an urbane voice, "If you are not one of those two people, please wait your turn."
Loora, the scholar says, "But, if you have a question for Her, speak with the Samatha after and they can direct you in making such contact."
Runa nods her head carefully.
Loora, the scholar says, "I am sorry, Eril, I do not have the answer to your question."
Eril bows respectfully to Loora, the scholar.
Eril smiles and says to Loora, the scholar in a deep and gruff voice, "I appreciate any answer, even if it is to say you don't know ma'am, for it is honest."
Eril says to Loora, the scholar in a deep and gruff voice, "You have my thanks."
Loora, the scholar's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.
The Dragon melts away from Agrias, leaving him a Dwarf once again.
Loora, the scholar says, "You are welcome."

Bron finally asked that burning~ question. He wasn't intentionally being rude here, but apparently that's how he came across.

Edit: ..I kept the grammatical/spelling errors for posterity. Even I get pretzel-fingers, sometimes.  

Aodfionn

Mayan 12th, 669 AF

It has been one month, now, since I was appointed Deacon of Celestia,   

the enforcer of Their will and emissary of Good. The events of recent   

years have made for quite an interesting journey thusfar.               

Daeir has become Herald of Redemption, an action that I believe will    

save my house. With his promotion, the former Eleusian, the former      

nihilist, becomes the lone mortal entrusted with the power to sever a   

soul from the immense power of Devotion.                                

I am the first Deacon to have been raised in the village of Eleusis, the

first former Anachaine to serve Good. I say this not out of some sense  

of ego-stroking, but because my heritage effects me, and my faith, just 

as my predecessor was shaped by his youth in Mhaldor.                   

My formative years were spent in worship to the fury of Nature -        

discipline, ferocity, and loyalty were instilled in me early on, not    

just from Ice Troll culture, but from Eleusis and Lady Artemis. These   

traits I keep even still, and they remain virtues I hold in extremely   

high regard in servants of Good.                            

The wilds forged me. The Ashtani refined me. And the Bloodsworn
saved me. Whatever else is to come, I know this city is my home;
the Lady my heart; and the teaching of Their ideals my passion.

I do not know what the future will bring. As I told Halos, I have a     

feeling history will not be so kind to me as it will be to my           

predecessor. It may be impossible to get through this without resorting 

to the terrible act of excommunication on one of the Returned.          

I pray to Them with all my heart, that I never have to do such a thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wrote that about a day after getting deacon. Hadn't read this journal in a while, last part hit a mofo right in the feels.

Chord

Statue of Raclawice, Goddess of Rogues and Wanderers (indoors).
A look of bold determination on Her face, a statue of Raclawice is here. A runic totem is planted solidly in the ground. Unfurled, a jasmine-pressed dragon scroll lies here with its cerulean ribbon dangling.
You see a single exit leading southwest.
 
You read what is written on a jasmine-pressed dragon scroll:
"Prayer to the Elder Goddess" (Page 1)
                        ~ ~ ~
 
            Goddess of the Libertine, who favours
            those who embace self-rule,
 
            Your followers turn away from conventions
            and moralities ordained by the cities.
 
            We are shunned for spurning
            their overly-principled natures.
 
            We seek Your presence.
            Drink of our continued faith in You.
 
                       ~ ~ ~

You say, "At a crossroads of my faith and my heart, and I have nowhere else to turn."

Short-cropped hair frames the boyish face of Raclawice in this statue, a wry grin causing Her lips to curl. Her vest leaves Her arms bare, exposing toned muscle. The pack slung across Her back bulges with tools and provisions for wilderness expeditions. Boots up to Her thighs are secured by the criss-cross of a leather strap from ankle to upper edge.

It is now the 1st of Scarlatan, 682 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire.

Chord looks to a statue of Raclawice with weary eyes. He lifts a hand to his chest as he drops to a knee before a statue of Raclawice and hangs his head before it.

Tolling to the midnight hour, the deep bass tones from the clock tower reverberate throughout the valley and resonate softly through the cool mountain air.

You say, "Lady Raclawice, when you were stripped of your Godhood and became mortal, how did you choose your path? Those you knew, lost to you. The ideals you espoused warped beyond recognition."

Eyes glistening with contained tears, Chord looks up to a statue of Raclawice from his knees.

You say, "Lady, did you turn your back on what you had known? Did you settle for nothingness and embrace your loss? Or did you turn evermore towards the realm you once championed -- losing yourself in wandering the world without the burden of the responsibility you had held before?"

Crafted from aromatic sandalwood and strung on a thong of soft suede
leather, this humble string of prayer beads hangs around the wearer's
neck, symbolic of their faith. Smaller beads take most of the string's
length, with larger beads set at interval between them. Two strands of
the suede thong suspend a circular medallion crafted from the fragrant
wood. The medallion is elaborately adorned, with an ornate border
circling its edge. An emblem is carved into its centre, a faceted gem
cradled on each side by a mountain summit, with a third rising up behind
it. The back has been left smooth and unadorned, leaving room for words
of faith or dedication.
Engraved on it are the words:
Chord Terias
Faith is not of mind and body, but of spirit -
And your spirit shall always dwell in the Gem of the Vashnars
It has 100 months of usefulness left.
It weighs 4 ounce(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Melodie.

Grasping at a necklace of sandalwood prayer beads, Chord sets his jaw with a fire lighting his age-worn eyes.
You say, "I know where I've come from, and what I sacrificed and who I've lost to pursue a dream. But I can not live in the world of fantasy any longer. I'm ages away from being the hero I was to be as a child, and I will not..."

Flawless Angel rings out brightly as you rapidly draw it from a scabbard of white leather.

Chord tightens his grip on Flawless Angel, holding it with a look of defiance upon his face.

As the first hint of daylight breaks through the night sky, the Cyrenian Clock Tower chimes out a gentle, low din, heralding the arrival of dawn.

You say, "... I will NOT STAND BY. I will resume my goal, and I will find a way to return my heart to peace."
With a sibilant 'shhhiiiinnngggt!', you smoothly sheathe Flawless Angel.

Chord looks to a statue of Raclawice once more, a smile spreading across his face as he does so.

You say, "Maybe I'll look for you, as I journey. I hope I catch you."

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

You bow respectfully to a statue of Raclawice.

I know that self-RP is like masturbation, but I have been trying to convince myself to come back for a while, but I felt stuck with my character's story. I prefer to RP things out in-game, instead of just making them head-canon, so I did a small thing.  

Melodie

@Chord man, I've missed you. The feels.

Quisse

You read what is written on an elegant white letter:

[written in a careful script, in a clean, black ink]

My dearest brother,

I pen this letter to you because there is reason. We have shared much, and though I know that I cherished our time far more than you will ever conceive or appreciate, I know we share a bond. We share a father. We share blood. And now, as I so often have, I will share an experience with you, one you unknowingly gave to me, that you might share in that burden that you created.

The month you left Targossas, forsaking everything and everyone you bade me care for, the Righteous Fire left you, a traitor, and found me, your sister. As one Wintermourne walked away from his Oaths, another Wintermoune was called into His service.

Long, long have I dreamed of that day, though all our talking and your teaching, through my worries and doubts, through moments of unseemly weakness and unbridled enthusiasm, you have been part of my vision of that day, as clear as the skies on the days you took me sailing. You, standing next to me, impassive, save for a gleam of pride in your eyes. You, knowing how you had helped me reach the only goal I have ever known. You, my brother, my best friend, my idol, the man I aspired to be from the very first day we met. You would be at my side. The Order would be gathered, and the Lord would know that He had in His service two of the most devoted people the world had to offer. Siblings. Blood. And more.

Long have I envisioned that day. What I would say. What He would ask. What you would say. How proud you would be. How proud I would be. How grateful, so grateful, I would be to know that I had taken a step toward being half the person I thought you were.

I wish to share with you, brother, dear brother, how it really went.

The Order gathered. Father and Aodfionn were at my side. The Lord appeared before me, terrible and beautiful and utterly perfect, as He always is. You were on your ship, or in the city of Evil, or wherever you had retreated in your shame. You were not at my side. You were not in my head. You were nowhere I could find you.

And He did ask me questions. Not the questions I had envisioned, no. Nothing about Righteousness, nothing about Sacrifice or Purity. In front of the Caefir, in front of our father and family, in the presence of members of city and House, I was asked questions that I am certain no Kindling will ever be asked again.

The first question was how I felt about the actions of my brother and Exemplar, now a known traitor and betrayer.

He asked next what I would expect were I ever to follow in your blasphemous footsteps.

He asked me, finally, how He could be sure that I would not be like you. That I would not be like you. That I would not be...the only thing I have wanted to be for decades...like you.

I am lost without my flesh and blood. You are incomplete without me.

~Quisse~

Feels have been going around big time in the last 48 hours. But @Daeir

Jeslyn

A bit short, but it has been awhile since I've had a more serious rp log. Sharing this one with @Tristyn.

Nirvana.

This room has not been mapped. A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area. Upon entering, your senses grow numb and you feel nothing but a desire to sleep. The room is flat grey and utterly featureless except for a single monolith of grey stone which gives off faint vibrations that imply nothing. There seems to be no hint of intelligence nor pattern in the vibrations but you get the feeling that the monolith is an ancient being, not alive in the sense you are, but sentient nonetheless. A runic totem is planted solidly in the ground. A single monolith of grey stone occupies the centre of the chamber, covered in a faint coating of dust. Consecrating its surroundings, a raging pyre burns white hot in homage to the Righteous Fire. Looking ready for anything, a hulking war elephant stands here. Covered by a bit of powdered rock, an old key glints in the light here.

Staring down at a handheld reflection glass, Jeslyn reaches up and pulls her fingers through her wild auburn locks. Her eyes bearing shadows from the lack of sleep she was experiencing.

Tristyn flickers into view.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “What have I become?”

Tristyn says in a muted tone, “I am asking myself the same question. I thought I’d find you sulking here, mentor.”

Jeslyn draws her eyebrows together in irritation, tilting the glass to check on the presence behind her. She inhales deeply and shakes her head, “I thought I said I wanted no more spies. Have nothing better to do than play your father’s pet, child?”

Tristyn positions herself against a wall with her arms crossed. Her lips form themselves into a small cryptic smile of indifference.

Tristyn says in a muted tone, “I’ve come on my own accord, because I thought I rid of you.”

Tristyn says in a muted tone, “However, like a cockroach, you have become a lifelong problem.”

Jeslyn turns her head and stares at Tristyn underneath a fringe of her eyelashes. With a flick of her wrist, she sends the looking glass careening into the wall besides her haunter. The pieces, scattered on the floor, are remnants of her anger.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “Next time I won’t miss.”

Tristyn considers you with keen eyes as her teeth part into a minx-like grin. Her braided hair sways slightly while she shakes her head at the dismal display. 

Tristyn says in a muted tone, “Why pretend to be something you’re not? You’re too much of a coward to do anything further. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Jeslyn narrows her blue eyes and swivels to face Tristyn directly. Closing the distance between them in a few short strides, she grabs a handful of Tristyn’s braids and yanks her closer till their foreheads are touching.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “Don’t think I won’t send a message to your father what I think of sniveling pets. Now, go, before I change my mind.”

Tristyn loses her grin at your words before assuming another set of impassive facial expressions. A manicured eyebrow raises in challenge.

Tristyn says in a muted tone, “I shan’t unless I have your promise to abandon your follies. You’re either devoted to the cause or you’re not.”

Jeslyn loosens her grip around Tristyn’s hair. She frowns, obviously irritated by the request. Her hand hovers over Tristyn’s throat and she grasps it, entirely departing from her usual carefree attitude.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “Listen to yourself. Have you no empathy towards my situation?”

Jeslyn sighs, increasingly becoming agitated with every word she speaks.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “Of course not, I should have not expected anything more. All you are is a soulless vessel who seeks to use my trust as a tool. However, your words, you manipulative snake… they won’t work if I crush your windpipes.”

Jeslyn punctuates this by tightening her grasp once.

Tristyn struggles silently against your grip, lips curling into a snarl. Grey eyes as emotionless as an animal long deceased from age, she raises her knee harshly, angling it towards your stomach.

Jeslyn stumbles a few steps backwards and grips her stomach before dropping to her knees on the floor. Alarm falls over her exhausted appearance and she lowers her head, trying to regain her composure.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “Tristyn… the life you live. It is full of people that care naught for an individual like myself. Can’t you see this by their cruel assault on devotionists in Cyrene? I refuse to cross rivers and streams for people that would not even jump a puddle for one they deem insignificant. They’ve betrayed my trust.”

Jeslyn coughs, picking herself up from the ground, as her blue eyes wavered in their resolve. They look towards the glass laden floor and pieces of her drained reflection mockingly stare back.

You whisper in a low, silvery voice, “However, Tristyn, in my frustration… I tried to take your life with little thought. It made me no better than them. I will, for your sake… as you’re still young, revaluate these follies you speak of.”

Tristyn sets her lips into a hard line and thinks for a long moment, but then relaxes her expression to one near warmth. She steps forward, raising your chin with her index finger, and places a gentle kiss on her cheek as she says quietly, “It’s all I ask.”

Tristyn leaves to the out.

Tristyn

You edited that faster than I expected. Glad you enjoyed it.

edit: Whatever editing software you used turned my voice to tone! I just noticed that. Ha!

Jeslyn

Shhh, I'm an overzealous, ocd editor. I'll even remove titles to get to the point quicker.  Especially yours. You have a  ginormous title.

Aminah

holy cow

Remind me NOT to cross either of you @Jeslyn @Tristyn

Tesha

I crossed @Jeslyn! She's so sweet. 

Tharvis

Tesha said:

I crossed @Jeslyn! She's so sweet. 

she will eat your soul!

Ruth

Asterian Convention logs

Jurixe's opening ceremony and speech:

http://pastebin.com/kjSNy8tb

In order of presentations

Mhaldor's presentation:

http://pastebin.com/6GAUKQBM

Cyrene's presentation:

http://pastebin.com/QPe3mj86

Eleusis's presentation:

http://pastebin.com/qG411AzD

Hashan's presentation:

http://pastebin.com/cxU8r9N8

Ashtan's presentation:

http://pastebin.com/j87B7CB1

Tharvis

thanks @Ruth!

Melodie

Today, I got enchanted for the first time.

While watching @Saeva enchant in Mhaldor with @Jarrod, after a particularly bad series of things going on, we had a small moment of ridiculous to just break apart the tedium of the last while. Lighthearted moments are rare, but enjoyed.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral asks you in Mhaldorian, "Need anything done while I'm here?"

You suck thoughtfully on your teeth.

Saeva curls her nose up and grimaces awfully.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "This list..."

You say to Saeva with a flowing, cultured accent, "Can you enchant me? I'd like to feel enchanted right now."

Saeva nods her head emphatically.

Saeva grabs you and shoves her into a sitting position on a beguiling ouroboros.

Saeva claps her hands together merrily.

Saeva spins her fingers in the air.

Saeva spins in a circle.

You have emoted: Melodie wriggles around in her seat.

Saeva grabs the sword and waves it over you.

Saeva takes some diamond dust and sprinkles it into your hair.

You cover your mouth and sneeze.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Mino elith loma ooba digdu ina era."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Mino elith loma ooba digdu ina era."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Mino elith loma ooba digdu ina era."

Saeva smacks the drum a bit harder than intended.

Saeva picks up the lute and crushes a kola nut over it.

You have emoted: Melodie tries not to snicker but seems unable to help herself.

Saeva draws a one-hundred and fifty-three sided polygon and shows off the parchment proudly before burning it and throwing the flaming paper into the second a beguiling ouroboros.

You attempt to stifle your amusement but cannot help laughing aloud.

Saeva claps her hands together merrily.

Saeva claps her hands together merrily.

Saeva points off into the wild blue yonder.

Jarrod blinks. (Oh now you finally start paying attention)

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "Is something going to explode..."

Saeva rings the bell.

You say proudly to Jarrod with a flowing, cultured accent, "I'm getting enchanted."

A bright light pulses and suddenly Melodie feels very refreshed.

Jarrod edges away slowly.

You say brightly with a flowing, cultured accent, "I feel refreshed!"

Jarrod enthuses, "Sure!"

Saeva helps you off of the a beguiling ouroboros.

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "She -did- sprinkle kola on you."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "No!"

You have emoted: Melodie bounces up with Saeva's help, shaking her hair and sending diamond dust scattering around the room.

Saeva holds up a finger instructionally.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "I crushed kola over the lute."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "I sprinkled diamond dust on her."

Jarrod Lucoster says sarcastically in a smooth, low voice, "Oh, that's certainly better."

You frown and say to Jarrod with a flowing, cultured accent, "You don't think I look enchanting?"

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says ominously in Mhaldorian, "You do not want to see what happens when you crush a Kola on someone."

Jarrod gives a horrified gasp.

Jarrod Lucoster says to you in a smooth, low voice, "You look like someone sprinkled diamond dust on you."

You have emoted: Melodie slips over to Jarrod, grabbing a fistful of curls and shaking them over his fur, sprinkling some of the remnants of diamond dust within.

You say cheerfully with a flowing, cultured accent, "Now you do too."

Jarrod creases his brow in a frown.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral asks Jarrod in Mhaldorian, "How about you?"

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral asks Jarrod in Mhaldorian, "Would you like to also be enchanted?"

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "No, I think I'll pass."

Saeva whistles appreciatively.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Wow, such willpower."

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "What enchants would even work on me?"

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Well."

Saeva purses her lips, deep in thought.

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "I'm irresistible, slicker than water."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Probably the enchantment of greater charisma."

Jarrod shakes his head sadly from side to side.

You have emoted: Melodie snorts in amusement, sending forth a small plume of sparkling dust.

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "The poor ladies of Mhaldor."

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "I wouldn't want to break so many hearts."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says to Jarrod in Mhaldorian, "Right? You think you're slick now."

You say to Jarrod with a flowing, cultured accent, "Surely you wouldn't have to break -every- girl's heart."

You say to Jarrod with a flowing, cultured accent, "Must be one out there."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral exclaims maniacally in Mhaldorian, "Break them all!"

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "With that much charisma?"

Throwing her hands in the air, Saeva tosses her head back and laughs sadistically.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "But!"

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "Only if you get the greater charisma enchantment."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "You -might- also die in a blast of green energy."

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "I think I'll pass, I have enough fans already."

Saeva snorts arrogantly.

The corners of your mouth turn up as you grin mischievously.

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "This guy."

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says in Mhaldorian, "A hot shot."

You say to Saeva with a flowing, cultured accent, "Right?"

You say to Saeva with a flowing, cultured accent, "Absolutely nothing could flag his confidence in himself."

Jarrod Lucoster says in a smooth, low voice, "Of course, killed a few Targossians with my hot shots."

You grin mischievously at Jarrod.

Saeva

@Melodie they aren't supposed to see me this way! 

Szeth

Saeva said:

@Melodie they aren't supposed to see me this way! 

Agreed. It's unsettling.

I saw Ruth being kind and helpful on Newbie the other day and still haven't gotten over it.

Ruth

Szeth said:

Saeva said:

@Melodie they aren't supposed to see me this way! 

Agreed. It's unsettling.

I saw Ruth being kind and helpful on Newbie the other day and still haven't gotten over it.

It's an illusion. When they come to me privately for more help, that's when you know I'll swoop over them and drag them over to Mhaldor, with the oven already prepared for a grand novice feast. Where the novice is literally the feast.

Melodie

So this is pretty late as the convention was a while ago, and also there was one log posted elsewhere but it was a bit messy to read (<3 Zarla). I thought I'd go ahead and post a cleaned up and ever so slightly edited version here for those who happened to miss the convention and the children's choir!

I actually composed this with inspiration from a very eerie piece I sung when I was in my high school's choir that has stuck with me, somehow, for ten years. I was about halfway through writing it when I realized where exactly my inspiration was coming from and it was very creepy how well the lyrics ended up lining up without my meaning to at all. If you're curious, http://ericwhitacre.com/music-catalog/satb-choral/sleep has some information and two versions of the piece - the soundcloud version linked on there is a professional choir, and what I recommend to listen to. I also did a bunch of research on choirs with a harp lead before finally coming up with the following, wherein Saeva did her magic with bringing the children to (adorable) life.

To answer a very-much asked question: Yes, we hope to bring the choir back at some point! When remains to be seen. Enjoy.

---

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says, "Welcome, all. This is an exceptional time for all of us of different geographical and philosophical walks in life to gather and observe, and perhaps even appreciate, our cultural differences."

 

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says, "It brings me great pleasure to share with you a particularly unique display, as we now welcome forth The Unholy Children's Choir of the Black Cathedral."

 

Ushered in by a small, heavily cloaked gremlin, a single file line of waddling children dressed in ebon robes enter with solemn expressions belying their age.

 

Ryanna's eyes sparkle with amusement.

 

The small gremlin gives Saeva a curt bow with a frazzled appearance as she greets him and the line of children, guiding them to their side by side places on the platform lining the back wall.

 

Kotaru tilts his head and listens intently.

 

After a small time of shifting and reshifting the placement of each child, some more stubborn than the others, Saeva steps to the side and beckons for Melodie to take her place.

 

Melodie ascends the platform and strides with graceful steps towards a large, standing harp engraved with strange sigils.

 

Jaybles claps her hands together merrily.

 

Slipping into the stool, Melodie pulls the hefty instrument towards her right shoulder and adjusts a small stand of sheet music before dipping her head towards Saeva.

 

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says, "Today, we shall hear the voices of our smallest citizens ring forth in adulation of Evil. They will be performing a song composed and conducted by Dynamis Melodie, entitled "A Convert's Prayer"."

 

Saeva bows her head respectfully and slips away to the side of the platform keeping a keen eye on the row of children, their attention now turned to Melodie's presence.

 

Fingers poised over the strings before her, Melodie nods towards the gremlin, who raps a tuning fork firmly. The assembled children hum quietly, trying to attune their voices to the sound. Melodie checks a few notes on her harp, making quick adjustments.

 

Soon, all is deathly still, the silence reigning supreme over the pavilion.

 

With deft fingers, Melodie begins to pluck at the deeper chords as the assembled choir of children begin in soft, eerie voices, the words at first barely able to be heard before steadily growing in strength.

 

"Alone in the stygian night,"

 

"My faith as dim as wa'vring light."

 

The even resonance of the tenors and bass grow around Melodie's muted overtones, words and notes weaving together into a series of minor refrains that rest uneasy on one's ears.

 

"Before my eyes are wasteland roads,"

 

"Feet are blistered and back is bowed."

 

Standing stiffly with long robe sleeves draping past his hidden hands, a particularly small boy at the end of the row stares distractedly at the gauzy crimson fabric as it ripples. Saeva gives a curt snap where the boy's gaze is directed and points to her eyes then to Melodie, refocusing his attention.

 

The timbre of the music changes from uncertainty to awe, the vocalization of the youth rising in pitch and fervour. Melodie focuses intently on strumming through the interchanging majors and minors, guiding forth the continuing tune.

 

Ryanna smirks.

 

"Arising from the blood-hued fog,"

 

"I pause and stare with face agog."

 

Disturbing the melody of the song being sung, a tiny voice rings out clearly, "That's not the right words! Its agog, not Ognog!"

 

As the chilling harmonies echo across the platform, the melody shifts and begins to slow, each word rendered more deliberately than the previous.

 

"Iron Spires that pierce the sky, and show Evil's embrace... is... nigh."

 

Only the most remote, resonate hum from the bass and tenors remains, as if gathering the fortitude to move forward. Finally, the haunting sounds of the intertwining sopranos and altos creep into perception as Melodie's fingers trickle across the sharp, staccato strands closest to her.

 

"When strength is waning... raise your eyes,"

 

One of the children stares up at the ceiling, dramatically mouthing words as the song is sung, though clearly not following along with the choir.

 

"Praise to our Master... 'twixt heathen's cries."

 

Melodie leans into her harp, as if to let it support her frame as she carefully plucks at a medley of strings across octaves, arms moving fluidly to and fro. The merging hums of the altos and tenors blend together in soft, reverent repose.

 

A small rajamalan girl lifts her hands into the air as she sings a bit too loudly, twisting from side to side with exuberant energy.

 

"Then I surrender unto Him,"

 

"Where crul'ty rids... of weakness' whims."

 

Pacifying the harp's strings, Melodie dampens the resonating instrument into macabre silence for a few scarce heartbeats. With an abrupt, stunning show of deep-chested force beyond their tender ages, the small assembled choir begin a slow building of tension as the hymn marches forward.

 

"With Suffering and Oppression,"

 

"We give o'er our soul's possession..."

 

A small xoran boy rocks onto his toes, peering into the crowd and giving a reluctant wave as his eyes find his target. He settles back down onto flat feet casting Saeva a sidelog glance seeking approval. She gives him an emboldening nod, his tail now thumping upon the ground behind him in time with the song he proudly sings.

 

"Bloody slaughter brought to our foes!"

 

"Forced to their knees all who oppose!"

 

Straining at the seams of the melodies and haunting tones ascending into the surrounding enclosure, the children recite the next lyrics, "Then I surrender..." The powerful voices of the sopranos suddenly soar into unearthly chords, reminiscent of fallen angels as they crescendo into the peak of the piece. Melodie delicately tweaks at minute strings near her ear, the tinkling sound weaving though the chilling symphony.

 

A corpulent atavian girl withdraws a small Baalzadeen doll from the sleeve of her robe and licks it, pretending to savour its unholy taint.

 

Melodie shifts a swift, baleful glare towards a corpulent atavian girl, who withers beneath the evil eye's authority. She quickly hides the doll behind her and trains her attention forward.

 

The corners of Ryanna's mouth turn up as she grins mischievously.

 

Avonela's eyes sparkle with amusement.

 

Taraus ducks her head, barely managing to conceal her grin.

 

Melodie's arms gently flow down the length of affixed cords as the climax gradually descends in both scale and furor. The echoes of Evil's youth smoothly blend together into discernible words once more, "... unto Him...", the last tenderly rising and dipping in modulation before calmly halting at an anchored pitch the soothes the senses.

 

Then silence.

 

With great care, Melodie languidly brushes the tips of her fingers to bring to life a deep, mournful backdrop as the assembled lift their voices in the last refrains, serene and compelling.

 

"Evil... Evil..."

 

Jaybles releases a held breath.

 

With only the faintest creak in the young singers, they carry the singular yet impassioned word to and fro, the harmony strangely alluring and seeming to beckon forth the weary spirit despite the prior hardships intoned.

 

A short, confident rajamalan boy begins to leave the platform, only to be seized by the back of the collar by a scowling mhun girl who yanks him back into line.

 

With one last upsurge into the heartrending beauty of the sopranos, the blended euphony of the choir slowly recedes into stillness. Melodie delicately strums the muted notes of the melody's reprise, letting the aria linger briefly before stilling the harp's reverberating strings.

 

Applauding the children with satisfaction as the song comes to a close, Saeva then moves to the platform and begins guiding the children away, lining them behind the hobbling gremlin who escorts them out of the pavilion with a weary huff.

 

Saeva turns to the crowd and bows her head politely as she motions to the departing line of robed children.

 

Jarrod gives up a round of applause.

 

Avonela gives up a round of applause.

 

Zarla claps her hands together merrily.

 

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral smiles and says, "Thank you all for attending the performance of The Unholy Children's Choir of the Black Cathedral in their premier public performance."

 

Aepas utters a deep, rumbling laugh.

 

Taraus' lips curl into a beaming smile, offering resounding applause.

 

Ryanna gives up a round of applause.

 

Kayeil gives up a round of applause.

 

Sarathai gives up a round of applause.

 

Phelia claps her hands together merrily.

 

Tael stands and applauds wildly.

 

Jaybles gives up a round of applause.

 

Tristitia covers her mouth with both hands as though overwhelmed by the adorable children. "Oh my gosh," she says through her fingers. "How cute is that?!"

 

Alaric claps his hands together merrily.

 

Ginovianna claps her hands together merrily.

 

Daeir gives up a round of applause.

 

You give up a round of applause.

 

Sciipe claps his hands together merrily.

 

Verrucht claps his hands together merrily.

 

Kitiara gives up a round of applause.

 

Marisella claps her hands together merrily.

 

Eminence Saeva Aristata, Lady Feral says, "And a special thanks to Vindicator Melodie for composing such a wonderful piece to celebrate Evil."